


and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

by kerostasia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Psychological Horror, though it's very slight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 14:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3071420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerostasia/pseuds/kerostasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you expected it to happen (ever since that fateful july), but you never expected it to <i>happen this fast</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

you’re fading, and you know it.

you’ve known for a while now, and you expected it to happen (ever since that fateful july), but you never expected it to _happen this fast_. it hasn’t even been twenty years. you have a ways to go before you reach the halfway point. and yet.

and yet you feel it, deep in your bones, that your city is not yours anymore. not when you feel light, and disoriented, and completely unsurprised to look up and see families sleeping on highrise rooftops. not when your chest seems just a little more congested than it was yesterday, and your blood just a little more sluggish in your veins, because teacher’s influence is a powerful thing, and its power only grows by the day.

you glance upwards. in the horizon, the mountains are clearly visible. water laps gently against the sides of the pier. good. you aren’t in the mood to deal with rough waters today.

the journey to your brother’s house takes a little less than an hour. you navigate his back streets with ease, the architecture looking far more european and rustic than the neon signs and glossy skyscrapers that you’re known for, before you find his place. you let yourself in without preamble. in the kitchen, he is preparing tea (of course), and he does not have the grace to even act surprised at your sudden appearance. instead, he slides a cup and a portuguese egg tart in front of you, a smile twitching on his face. you know what he’s doing. it’s an unspoken tradition between the two of you, a little game that uses the same rhetoric each time. normally, you’d make a snobby little comment about how it’s disgustingly burnt, or too heavy, or any number of things, but today you’re too tired to engage.

your brother, bless him, picks up on your mood and decides not to comment. instead, he says, _how are you?_

 _the same as you, i suppose,_ you reply. not a direct answer, but it doesn’t have to be. you two have always been closer to each other than anyone else in the region. you suppose it’s fitting, then, that you share the same symptoms.

he gives you a once-over, and nods. your brother lifts his cup to his lips, almost as if to cover his next words, and says, _you know, i’m surprised we can still see each other. with everything that’s happened._

you think you see, maybe, shiny metal bugs skittering along the walls. the hair on the back of your neck raises, but you ignore it. the feeling of being watched, of being heard, is omnipresent now, though you know it’s illogical. leaning slightly across the table, sotto voce, you say, _i’m sorry if he’s giving you a hard time, because of me._

he hums noncommittally, and the conversation stalls. the silence is comfortable and eerie all at once, and you wonder how it's possible. your place is never this calm. the bustle of city life somehow manages to worm its way through your windows, tens of stories up.

here, in the comfort of your closest confidante’s home, you strain your ears. what do you hear? everything? nothing? which is worse? the silence seems paradoxically loud, beating at your eardrums. you don’t -

 _are you alright?_ your brother asks. you refocus on his face, and you realize uneasily that the sun is lower in the sky now, the shadows longer.

 _yes,_ you reply. before he can say anything else, you add, _do you have a deck of cards?_

he is completely unimpressed, but lets you off the hook for now. you two spend the next few hours playing card games. the games themselves vary, but at least there is one constant: your constant stream of losses. by the time the streetlamps are on, your wallet is considerably lighter, as is your heart.

 _are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?_ he asks as his hands deftly shuffle the deck. his gaze is piercing, and suddenly you’re reminded of that short story, from alfred’s house. something about a brother, a sister, and a visitor. three roles for two players. you wonder which is which. more importantly, you wonder who will bury the other.

you shake your head. there is no rule about it, but it’s generally accepted that your kind spends major holidays at your respective houses, with your people. he nods, understanding, and bids you farewell. you shut the door behind you on your way out. dust flutters down, dislodged from the impact, and you flick it out of your eyes. you make a note to tell your brother about it later.

the journey back home is nothing special. if anything, the waters seem almost subdued, as if conserving energy. a crowd has already begun to gather.

you pick your way through, and eventually you’re back at your apartment in the mid-levels. your place has always been cluttered, with newspapers and birdcages and plates strewn about, and arthur’s visit earlier this month hadn’t helped matters. he’d come to apologize (but not in any official capacity, the coward), and only ended up disrupting your careful system of organized disorder. on second thought, maybe you won’t tease your brother after all. you’re many things, but you’re not a hypocrite.

you draw your curtains open, and you note that the crowd below has grown exponentially. but it’s not time yet. you rest your forehead on the cool window, and close your eyes. you don’t need to watch the numbers displayed on the side of the ifc when you can count your heartbeats instead.

you know that you’re not as lucky as everyone else. your demise approaches, but hopefully, you can hang on. ludwig’s brother is still alive and kicking, isn’t he? the southern half of italy is still around, and he’s technically been dead for thrice as long as gilbert has.

the clock strikes midnight. the fireworks bloom above your harbour, your famous harbour, your pride and joy, and you feel time march inexorably on.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> 1\. More and more Hong Kongers living in poverty have (illegally) taken up residence on the roofs of apartment buildings. Rising rent prices have put housing beyond their reach, and the overpopulated city's public housing waitlist is several years long.
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. In 2014, Mainland Chinese companies accounted for over 50% of new leases signed for office spaces in the Central district, up from 20% in 2012. 
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. Macau is usually framed by state media as the more "content" SAR, but protests have been happening there too! Like the protestors in Hong Kong, they were demanding a more democratic election process, and their grievances also include rising costs and the influx of Mainland visitors. Recently, some of the students who had taken part in Hong Kong's protests have been denied entry into Macau.
> 
>  
> 
> 4\. The Mid-Levels are apartments with fantastic views of Victoria Harbour. They are populated mostly by politicians and businessmen, who a) appreciate the proximity to Central and Admiralty, and b) are generally the only ones who can afford the $10 million HKD+ price tag.


End file.
